Fraud and Frankenstein
by Galaxy1001D
Summary: It's that time of year again. The medical universities are opening and the Regency Blackadder plans to do something help out with the cadaver shortage. It's not his fault that before 1832 it was illegal for physicians in England to study cadavers in order to learn anatomy, but rest assured Mister Blackadder will do all he can to help out, and make a profit in the process!


_Blackadder is owned by the BBC and Tiger Entertainment_

A sinister man in black regency dress searches the shelves of a library. He passes a number of books titled _Blackadder the Third: 1760-1827, _runs his fingers past the _Encyclopedia Blackaddica_, and _From Black Death to Black Adder._ He removes but discards a book titled _Mr. Blackadder_ by Rowan Akinson, does the same with a book entitled _The Prince Regent_ by Hugh Laurie, and finally replaces a dog-eared book with a peeling spine called _Baldrick_ by Tony Robinson. Finally he finds the tome he is looking for and throws you a mischievous glance. Hidden in a hollow space inside the book is a romance novel with a rather lurid illustration that features a hero with the same face as the man in black. The title of the book is:

**Fraud and Frankenstein**

_By Galaxy1001D_

_Chapter One: Mister 'It'_

One fine morning at the dawn of the 19th century, a sinister man in black clothing strode imperiously into the kitchens below the royal palace in London. He addressed a scruffy slovenly man who appeared to be little more than half his height, had less than a tenth of his income and less than a hundredth of his brain cells. "Morning Baldrick," he smiled with uncharacteristic warmth.

"Mornin' Mister Blackadder," Baldrick replied. "I must say that you seem t'be in extraordinarily high spirits this morning."

"Indeed I am, Baldrick," he said as he rose to his full height and puffed out his chest. "Finally, at long last we have cleaned out the last of the Prince's leftovers. No longer will our larder be stocked to the gills with half-eaten roast beef, extra slices of shepherd's pie, or loaded with tons of pudding that's gone slightly past its prime."

"Aye, our supply of toad-in-the-hole had a family of frogs living it," Baldrick nodded sagely.

"And there were so many flatulent mice nesting in that bubble and squeak that it started living up to its name," Blackadder shuddered. "No, thank goodness that unprofitable nauseating chore is over with. Now we can finally get on with a more lucrative nauseating chore."

Baldrick's expression went from indifference to alarm. "Oh no Mister B! You can't mean!"

"Oh yes Baldrick!" Blackadder took a step forward with a villainous grin. "I do! As the summer ends and the universities open, it is time once again to assist the medical colleges by doing our small part to help with the cadaver shortage!"

"But grave robbin', 'tis so 'orrible!" Baldrick shook his head. "Not only is it amoral and spooky and such, but it's so disgustin'!"

"So is your personal hygiene, but like grave robbing, tolerating it is a necessary evil in these woeful times," Blackadder retorted with a dismissive gesture.

"But diggin' up people and sellin' 'em so the doctors can cut 'em up like meat!" Baldrick shuddered. "It don't seem right, it don't!"

"Well of course it's not right!" Blackadder snorted. "It's ridiculous actually! How do we expect our surgeons and physicians to know what goes where or have any practical experience performing surgery if they can't practice on an actual person eh? To think of all the incompetent surgeons who have to follow Wellington and his army around just to find some poor blighter desperate enough to let 'em practice on 'em, it's just enough to make a man sick! Imagine being some poor soldier with a bullet in you: Your doctor cuts you open and says: 'Well what do you know? I've never seen that before! Kindly hand me that diagram some dead wog scribbled centuries ago will you?' No I'd rather have a surgeon who's cut open lots of bodies and won't faint the first time he sees what's inside you! We're performing a service Baldrick!"

"So why can't the docs and their students go down the cemetery and buy it from the undertakers then?"

"Because, mouse-dropping brain, number one it's illegal, and number two if the undertakers sold directly to the surgical schools, it would cut me out of the loop and I'd lose a great deal of cash that I could be making otherwise, that's why!" Blackadder grumbled. "We aren't just doing this for the good of our fellow men; we're doing this to line our pockets!"

"All right," Baldrick acquiesced. "As long as you only sell 'em to the schools and not to those black magic cannibal weirdoes like last time. It seemed right ghoulish it did, cuttin' the bodies up to sell 'em by the pound an' all!"

"It shouldn't bother you," Blackadder shrugged. "You cut meat all the time for the Prince's table. Of course," he paled as he continued, "last year the wrong cut of meat was served _at _the Prince's table, but fortunately Prince Mini-brain didn't seem to notice. Honestly, I think that man would eat his own feet if you cooked them up and served them to him!"

"He does have quite an appetite," Baldrick agreed.

"Not for much longer," Blackadder crowed. "He's going to have to get sick if I want an excuse for every surgeon's disciple within spitting distance of their wallets to converge on the palace. Or in this case, my good friend Doctor Frankenstein."

"Gad, not 'im again," Baldrick groaned.

"Be civil Baldrick," Blackadder sniffed. "Can I help it if every year he comes early and pays extra to get the stiffys while they're fresh? He seems to think that if he comes to the auction the other docs will get all the good ones I guess. Anyways he may be a mad German sausage but try to remember that he is Europe's foremost expert on human anatomy… and that includes Lady Hamilton."

Blackadder cleared his throat and assumed a more businesslike tone. "That reminds me. When Doctor Frankenstein gets here I need to have the prince out of the way. It's bad enough for a butler to conduct business in his master's house, but imagine the peril for a butler conducting _illegal_ business of a scandalously grisly nature right in the personal abode of the Prince Regent George Augustus Frederick."

"George Augustus Frederick? Ooze 'e then?" Baldrick asked.

"Prince Mini-brain, our lord and master," Blackadder sighed. "For crying out loud, he's the Prince of Wales. Honestly Baldrick, I can't believe you're so stupid you forgot the prince's name."

"Am not!" the little dogsbody retorted. "I was just havin' you on, that's all! Havin' some fun!"

"All right, dung-head, if you're so smart: What's _my_ name?" Blackadder challenged.

"Now wait a tick!" Baldrick raised a hand in a warding gesture. "Give me a minnit!" He furrowed his brow in concentration. "Now what's? Your. Name?"

Blackadder rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling before fixing his penetrating gaze on Baldrick. "You know I was just being sarcastic just now. You _know_ my name. You just said it as I came in."

"Your name is Mister Sarcastic!" Baldrick pointed a desperate finger at Blackadder.

Blackadder winced and shook his head. "No Balders. Try again."

"Well you didn't have to confuse me with trick info!" Baldick protested.

"What trick info?"

"You said you were being Sarcastic _just now_," Baldrick said pointedly. "But who were you before that?"

"Oh God…" Blackadder groaned. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any stupider…"

"I got it!" Baldrick clapped his hands in triumph. "Your name is Mister 'It'!"

Blackadder stared at Baldrick for a moment. "Mister 'It'?" he repeated finally.

"Yeah, Mister It," Baldrick nodded.

Blackadder rolled his eyes before returning his gaze to his unsightly servant. "May I ask what in Heaven's Name makes you believe my name is Mister 'It', Baldrick?"

Baldrick sighed and gave an embarrassed shrug. "You got me Mister B."

"What do you mean?"

"Y' tol' me y'self."

Blackadder blinked several times and held his breath. "_I_ told you?" he repeated dangerously. "When did _I_ tell you my name was '_It_'?"

"You know. When y' tol' me I already knew," Baldrick admitted. "Those were your very words. _You _said _I_ said '_It_' when you came in the door."

"What did I say?"

"Your name."

"_It_?"

"Yeah, It," Baldrick nodded. "That's a bit of a funny name, but a handy one. Easy to spell innit?"

"My very words?" Blackadder frowned. He chanted a fragment of their conversation: "'you know I was just being sarcastic just now… you know my name… you just said it as I came in…' You just said '_It'_!" His eyes widened in realization. "Ah. Now I understand," he smiled benevolently.

"Y' do?"

Blackadder smiled and nodded. "Yes Baldrick. You are, in fact, a bigger empty headed cretin than even_ I_ gave you credit for."

"Well," Baldick snorted arrogantly. "That'll teach you t' sell me short then."

"Indeed, you're short enough as it is," Blackadder nodded as he smiled a generous grin. "Well Baldrick, one good confession deserves another. I'm afraid I may have inadvertently misled you. My name, in fact, is not '_It_' at all."

"'Tisn't?"

Blackadder shook his head. "No. _It. Isn't_," he confirmed. "But to make it up to you, I _will_ show you where 'it' _is_," he added as he put a guiding arm around Baldrick's shoulder. "Come now, into the corner." When they reached the far corner of the room they looked down. "Look there. Do you see that chamber pot?"

"Yeah?"

"'It' is in _there_," Blackadder announced.

"It 'tis?"

"Yes, it '_tis_," Blackadder assured him. "If you don't believe me, take a close look inside why don't you?"

"I think I will," Baldick snorted before crouching on his hands and knees and peeking into the chamber pot to stare inside its noxious depths.

"I thought you would," Blackadder muttered before forcing Baldrick's face into the chamber pot. He released the little servant and watched him gag and sputter. "My apologies; it looks like I misled you once again. There, in fact, isn't any 'it' in that chamber pot at all but there's something that rhymes so it's not a total loss." He turned to walk to the stairs. "Empty that foul thing out, will you? It's smelling up the place," he added as he ascended.

The upstairs rooms of the palace seemed to be in another age from the drab and cluttered cellars. The trappings of luxury were in every room and in every hallway. Beautiful portraits hung everywhere. Golden candelabras and other tasteful knickknacks decorated the rooms as if being displayed in a museum. It was a sight you didn't see every day, unless you were the prince's butler; then you saw it _every_ day.

Prince George Augustus Frederick had been appointed Regent in order to replace his father who was deemed too mad to rule in 1788. He was a physically obese man who…

No. Wait a minute. Since the vast majority of fan fiction readers are female let's say that Prince George was a tall slender, good looking young man who looked like the fellow who played Bertie Wooster on the_ Jeeves and Wooster _show in the early '90's. Just picture him dressed for the period with a blond Revolutionary Era wig on his head and you're ready to go.

Prince George was looking out a palace window through a telescope when Blackadder entered the royal apartments.

Blackadder stopped in his tracks and rolled his eyes at the scene before emitting a loud and exaggerated sigh. "Your highness it really _is_ considered disrespectful to spy on the chambermaids when they're dressing," he scolded.

"Ah!" the prince cheered as he turned around and peered through his telescope at his butler. "Ah!" he screamed as he jumped back and took the scope away from his face. "Faw! Blackadder, you gave me quite a turn! Your eyeball looked the size of house just then! Pack your bags, Bladders, and say goodbye to England."

"Are we going someplace, your highness?"

"Why yes actually," George smiled. "Do you remember when you were reading me that book _Gulliver's Travels_?"

"Yes sir," his butler nodded. "I hope I don't need to remind you that it's a work of fiction. None of that ever happened."

"Yes-yes-yes!" the prince waved his hand dismissively. "Well it got me thinking."

"His highness will forgive me if I express my doubts," Blackadder quipped dryly.

"I thought that it's high time that I put my personal stamp on history as it were," George continued before making an excited mischievous face. "Lemuel Gulliver discovered Lilliput, Captain Cook discovered Hawaii, and that wog who worked for Spain discovered the new world." He paused for effect, but the childish glee in his eyes spoiled it somewhat. "_I_ plan to be the first man to reach the North Pole!" he announced as he strolled dramatically across the parlor.

"The North Pole?" Blackadder repeated.

"Yes," the prince nodded.

"You?" For a moment, the skepticism in Blackadder's voice couldn't be hidden. "Sir at this point I would like to remind you that you once got lost on the way to the lavatory," Blackadder informed him in a more conciliatory tone. "I think that trying to reach the North Pole is a little ambitious."

"Yes! And that's why I'm doing it!" George gushed with enthusiasm. "All throughout the empire I'm known as a colossal thickie, but they'll be singing another tune when I come back after reaching the North Pole won't they? After all, we all remember what happened to Captain Cook, don't we?"

"Yes sir," Blackadder affirmed politely. "He was killed by a mob of angry Hawaiians if I remember."

"No, no, no, before that," the prince waved a hand dismissively. "He sailed around the globe and became a hero. Even now they're still making statues and paintings of the man."

"Because he's dead," Blackadder nodded. "Killed by returning to the islands in the wrong season."

"Well that's just poor planning," George shook his head. "Besides, the Hawaiian Islands have already been discovered. I want to go where no man has gone before!"

"I understand my dogsbody has an aunt that nobody will touch," Blackadder offered, "but if you met her I have no doubt his highness would change his mind."

"Every great monarch leaves his stamp on history Bladders," the prince declared. "Being the first man to get to the North Pole will be mine!"

"I see, and the fact that no man has accomplished this miracle and returned alive to tell about it won't discourage you?"

"Certainly not," the young regent shook his head. "They just weren't trying!"

"Sir, the temperature at the North Pole is too cold for a polar bear to survive in,"  
Blackadder informed him. It is so cold that an attempt to relieve oneself by passing water would only result in yellow ice. Your highness gets uncomfortable when the window is left open."

"Well, we'll just make sure that someone remembers to close the windows then," the prince assured him. "I don't think they _have_ all that many windows on a ship anyway, do they?"

"Also I must point out the significant risk, not only to his highness but also to the empire," Blackadder continued. "Your royal highness was appointed Prince Regent in order to act as monarch because your father the king has gone mad and has the habit of sitting in a corner and saying the word 'wibble'. Should anything happen to his royal highness, the British Empire would be without a monarch."

"That's what makes the whole thing so daring!" George gushed. "When the ladies hear of how close I came to death they won't be able to resist me! So come on, Blackadder, get your things! There must be some ship captain out there who's willing to risk it all! After all, you remember the incredible career of Henry Hudson, don't you?"

"Indeed sir," Blackadder replied patiently. "He was murdered by his own men as I recall. I believe the killed him because he was a colossal thickie." He hoped the Prince got the hint.

"Well Magellan made it around the globe for the first time didn't he?" George guessed.

"Ah, if only that were true," Blackadder clucked sympathetically. "Technically he only made it halfway around the world. He died halfway through."

"Well, um, how about that other fellow… what's his name?" the Prince Regent stammered.

"Sir, I fear I must discourage you from this course of action because…" Blackadder stopped and blinked in epiphany as the wheels turned in his head. "Wait a moment, I think we can use this," he murmured.

"Really old bean?" the prince asked. "How so?"

"What?" Blackadder stared at his master guiltily before regaining his composure. "Oh yes! Ahem. I was merely considering your proposal from all sides, and after careful consideration have to admit that from a public relations angle we could certainly use a 'daring explorer' image for his highness."

"We can?" George asked innocently. "Well hurrah for that! When do we get cracking?"

"Well sir, the first thing we must do is get you ready for it," Blackadder said with a straight face. "Before we even think of allocating our resources to the expedition, we should first get you acclimated to the polar climate."

"I don't know what you said there but it sounds awfully naughty you saucy devil you!" Prince George laughed. "So I need to get used to those Scandinavian birds, do I! They have ways of keeping warm that would part the Red Sea do they?"

Blackadder stared at the prince in disbelief before taking a breath and starting again. "Your highness, I was merely stating that you need to get used to the cold."

"Oh yes! The cold!" the prince gasped. "Crickey! Mustn't forget about the cold! I hear that it's so cold up there that _snowmen_ start fires to keep warm!"

"Indeed your highness," Blackadder agreed. "That's why it is essential that you get used to the biting cold at once. I suggest that you order as much ice as possible while I find a room in the palace we can set aside for the proper artic environment. Let's see. We need someplace that can hold several bodies, won't we?"

"Several bodies?" the prince frowned. "Sorry old bean I don't follow you."

"For your intrepid crew, of course," his butler explained. "After you have been acclimated to the cold some of the sailors we'll take with us might need similar training. We need a great big room that can keep the ice cold and is resistant to moisture. We've just finished cleaning out the larder, perhaps we can use that."

"Excellent!" George nodded. "We can use the palace's icebox for an icebox! Why, the damn thing's as cold as an… icebox! Crumbs, pies, and a great big helping of jam! How do you come up with these things Blackadder?"

"Well it helps if you know where the bodies are buried your highness."

Next: _Doctor Frankenstein, I Presume_


End file.
